


Washington, USA, 1980

by Katzedecimal



Series: Heaven Is Mean To Aziraphale [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Natural Disasters, Volcanoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 21:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: ”You’re Heaven’s eyes on Earth.”That’s what they always told Aziraphale, when giving him these assignments.”Our observer of the acts of God.”Always smiling.  Always a hearty laugh, as they sent him off to watch people die.  And forbade him to help.





	Washington, USA, 1980

“It’s **bulging!**” Crowley shouted, “**Why** are all these people still here?! Look, you can **watch** it growing!”

“There hasn’t been any visible eruption activity in a few days. I suppose they think it’s safe to go back in to get their things,” Aziraphale said doubtfully.

“Despite all these volcanologists telling them not to,” Crowley agreed. 

They both stared at the mountain. Up until a few days ago, Mount St. Helens had been sending up geysers of steam and small plumes of ash with plentiful little earthquakes but now it had all gone quiet. As Crowley had pointed out, the symmetrically sloped sides of the mountain had become distorted, with a noticeable bulge growing out one side. It had been visibly growing at five feet per day but now it seemed to have relaxed a bit. 

They both knew that was not a good sign.

“Why are you here, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked quietly. 

“Why else? – Temptation. Supposed to tempt one of these reporters with a little infamy. He was originally assigned to something boring. What about you?”

Aziraphale’s face was as blank as his voice. “I’m supposed to bless one of these volcanologists with fame.”

They both knew what that meant. “Oh is that how they’re justifying it today?” Crowley said dryly. More softly, he said, “Angel, you know they’re doing this to you deliberately.” Aziraphale’s reply was a short, curt nod of the head. Crowley sighed. It was a sunny morning and unnaturally quiet. No birds sang, no animals called. Only human sounds drifted up from below. “Where’s your volcanologist?”

“Over there on that ridge. He’ll be out of the way if it does actually go up.”

Crowley tilted his head at the mountain. “Yeah but look at the angle of that thing, the way it’s been growing. There’s no way that’s going straight up. That’s going to go out.”

Aziraphale nodded, “That’s what my volcanologist believes. Nobody’s listening to him.”

“As usual,” Crowley sighed, “And if it does go out?”

Aziraphale bit his lips but didn’t reply. Instead he asked, “Your reporter?”

“Over that way. Probably safe.” They carefully didn’t look at each other.

Fame was both a blessing and a curse, a reward and a motivation – hence it was a favourite of both Heaven and Hell. That was the story, anyways. Aziraphale wondered whether Crowley had _actually_ been sent on a temptation. He suspected it was an excuse to join him at the site of yet another bulging stratovolcano.

Vesuvius. Tambora. Krakatoa. 

_”You’re Heaven’s eyes on Earth.”_ That’s what they always told Aziraphale, when giving him these assignments. _”Our observer of the acts of God.”_ Always smiling. Always a hearty laugh, as they sent him off to watch people die. And forbade him to help. 

Aziraphale was kind. He was a healer. He always helped out whenever he could (as long as it didn’t involve selling a book.) There was no logical reason why anyone would **forbid** an angel from helping in these situations. Except… There **was** one logical reason. 

Deliberate cruelty.

Crowley, as he liked to point out, was a demon. _”I know cruelty when I see it, Angel,”_ he’d said more than once, _”This is cruelty.”_ As always, Crowley gave voice to what Aziraphale was already thinking.

Excuse or not, Aziraphale was very grateful for Crowley’s presence. It meant he didn’t have to suffer alone.

The ground shook and the shaking intensified. Instinctively, they both looked at the bulge in the side of the mountain that abruptly began to slide and then the whole mountain exploded. Outwards.

It was eerily silent. 

Crowley stepped close to Aziraphale as the ash cloud rose and the first pyroclastic flows raced down and out from the mountain’s flank. Lighting began to pierce the rising cloud. Seconds later, Aziraphale shuddered. A few moments after that, Crowley shuddered too. Fame guaranteed, for whatever that was worth. 

Crowley took off his sunglasses and put them into his jacket pocket. Aziraphale glanced at his friend’s beautiful worried eyes. Soon it would be too dark to see.

The pyroclastic flows spread, well into zones thought to be safe, faster than the speed of sound, far too fast to outrun, taking trees, oxygen, temperature, and every life they rolled over. Life after life after life and Aziraphale flinched at each one, no matter how small.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said in a soft voice that was difficult to hear, “Would you… I hesitate to ask… I know it’s not something you… ” Crowley tipped his head to look at him. ”Just hold me? Please.”

Crowley said nothing. He just stepped behind Aziraphale and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him against his chest. Aziraphale sighed and relaxed, hands coming up to rest on Crowley’s forearms. He let the gratitude and warmth suffuse him. He knew he loved Crowley and he knew that Crowley cared very much for him and they had their differences but right here, right now, he was so very, very thankful for his friend.

Crowley peered into the murk. “There’s someone alive in there,” he said softly.

Aziraphale nodded, “I know.” A faint glow surrounded him, illuminating details of the pyroclastic clouds billowing out. 

“Angel, are you glowing?

“I’m under explicit orders not to help in any way,” Aziraphale said in a flat tone, “I’m an angel. Can I help it if accepting comfort from a good friend fills me with gratitude?”

“Ah.” He couldn’t see Crowley’s smile but he could hear it. Crowley tightened his arms around him and the glow brightened. Then he snapped his fingers upward.

“What did you do?”

“Heaven wants everyone to die? Can’t have that. A few miraculous pockets of oxygen would thwart that.”

Aziraphale felt his eyes stinging from tears and ash. He turned and tipped his head up to smile his thanks at Crowley. Crowley smiled back, his eyes and face soft and streaked with ash. Then the moment passed and Aziraphale turned back to face the direction where a lone young man struggled to escape in the clouds of hot ashes, gas, and debris. He felt Crowley turn to rest his cheek on Aziraphale’s ash-gritty hair, and the contact was so poignant, so pure, so unexpected, filling him with such warmth, spurring him to hope.

_Decades later, watching Dave Crockett’s video on YouTube, Aziraphale and Crowley would read the comments wondering about the eery, mysterious light that had guided Crockett to safety, and they would look at each other and smile._

**Author's Note:**

> Might become a series, depending where the muses go. 
> 
> This is what happens when I try Neil's suggestion of "drop them at any point in history and you get a story", and remember [the footage of Dave Crockett's escape.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=njV9ski1gB4) And start thinking about that eery light. Aaaaand look, here's a story! 
> 
> It's quiet because they're within the quiet zone. The pyroclastic flows were so fast, they were outrunning their own soundwaves, so there was a zone of about ten to fifteen miles where people heard no explosions, nothing.


End file.
